Plaster
by MercurialNight
Summary: When a mini-boss fight heads south, Sans discovers what it's like not to give up on a promise, and Frisk discovers that you can't bear every burden yourself. Hurt/comfort fluff; Frisk helps an injured Sans. T for Sans, who had to wash out his mouth with soap afterward.


Cracked skull, couple of ribs snapped off, fractures runnin all down his femur, and all Sans could think of was goddamned spaghetti. What a dumbass thing to remember in his final moments. What a shitty last thought. Spaghetti. Dammit, Pap. He was gonna turn to dust with spaghetti on the brain.

Maybe that was an exaggeration. He was thinking of a little more than that—like the huge pair of axes slicing wildly in the hands of the royal guard dogs. He was thinkin about Frisk and whether or not the kid would ever get up from where she lay, a crumpled heap in the snow and mud behind him. He thought about how stupid it was for the kid to have gotten all this way without hurting a soul, just to be beaten by a couple'a mooks in Asgore's guard.

The wardogs snarled beneath their executioner's hoods, wounded from Sans's attacks and real pissed about it, sniffing around like mad as the drool flew from their bared teeth. Just yesterday they were at Grillbys saying good morning. Amazin how two-faced people can get when they think you're consorting with the enemy…hey, they were blind, after all. Maybe he just smelled too much like a traitor. Good job his brother wasn't one of 'em. Nah, Undyne was right; Pap would never fit in with that bunch. Too nice. Too good-hearted. Same reason Frisk was rolling around on the ground right now. She couldn't get up, huh? Sans shook his head, grinning bitterly at the ridiculous situation. This run wasn't quite going the way it should.

Might as well give it up. Wasn't really salvageable at this point. Sans sat there in the snow and released a breathy chuckle, leaning back on his arms and staring at the sky. Ceiling. They didn't have a sky.

"Motha fuckin spaghetti," he breathed, closing his eyes.

Papyrus wasn't gonna make it without 'im.

The dogs advanced, and Frisk rolled around even harder, and the axe blades rose high into the air above him. Sans glared above a broad grin. Sonofabitch. What a waste of time.

The axes swung—

—and stopped.

Sans stared in silence at those sniffing noses. They sniffed. He stared. He shrugged incredulously with a small shake of his head. "So? What's the holdup?"

The wife of the pair sniffed the air, then pointed behind him, towards Frisk. "P…puppy!?"

…What.

"Are you actually a weird puppy!?" the husband shouted. The blades of their axes flopped to the ground, but they still clung to them—they could still cut him in half if they wanted. A…weird…puppy?

What in the actual fuck.

Sans went rigid as a striped blur shot past him, standing at his shoulder, reaching a scrawny little arm over his head. Her palm landed square in the center of the wife-dog's furry snout…and gently stroked it. Over and over. She was…petting the war hound.

Sans stared in disbelief as the dog's tail twitched—then waved—then started wagging furiously. She dropped her hold on the axe handle and stepped back into her husband. "I've been pet!"

"Pet by another pup!?" the other shouted, dropping his axe too. Then they both turned to each other, hesitated, tentatively reaching out. They were a bit slow on the uptake, but soon they were petting each other like crazy, smiling and laughing like it was a Christmas fuckin miracle.

The dogs left. They took their giant axes and wandered off into the sunset, pettin the livin hell out of each other. An incredulous laugh escaped him as he shook his head and grinned. Just like that. Saved.

"Kid…you're a real a piece o' work…" Sans mumbled, still staring at the spot the dogs had left.

Breathing heavily, Frisk felt her legs begin to shake. She fell to her knees, eyes darting all over him with a look of absolute horror on her bruised face. She reached toward the chipped hole in his skull, but pulled her shaking hands back before she could touch it. "S-Sans, you're…I—!" Her voice was trembling and tears pooled in her eyes.

"Ay now, hold on! What'sa matter? You alright? Frisk?"

"I-I'm sorry..!" Frisk covered her mouth as tears poured down her face. "Wh-what do I do?" she sobbed. "Your head…your… Sans! I'm s-so sor-ry!"

Sans knew nothing but the immediate need to make her stop crying. Frisk should never have to cry, and sure as hell not over him. "Hey, hey c'mon, ay—don't do that! Hey you beat em, right? And it was…boy it was somethin. What's there to cry about?"

" _You!_ " she shouted, burying her face in her hands.

"Me? What, kid, m'fine!" He reached out toward her, but a spike of pain in his ribcage stopped him short. His wide grin froze, locked painfully on his face. Shaking, Sans looked himself up and down, taking a closer look at the damage. Hm. Missin a couple more ribs than he thought. "Well…ok yeh it's pretty bad I ain't gonna lie. But listen—" he winced, pain radiating through his head. "Listen…it's gonna be fine I swear. Hey. Frisk, look at me. At my face, nothing else."

Frisk pried open one tearful eye and peered at him, still shaking with sobs.

"You saved me, yeh?" Sans smiled with as much reassurance as he could manage. "It coulda been a lot worse if you weren't here."

Frisk whimpered and her eyes widened in fear, imagining the prospect of…something worse. She burst into tears all over again.

"N-no! Aw, come on…" Sans muttered, wincing. Fuck; he couldn't do anything but make it worse, huh? Sans groaned quietly and ran a hand over his skull, careful to avoid the injury. "Frisk, everythin's gonna be fine. I swear. Yeah? I'm fine." He motioned toward his snapped-off ribs. "These? They'll grow back. Skeletons do that. Papyrus lost a leg once, grew back in a week."

Frisk sniffled desperately, trying with all her might to stop the tears. "R—really…?" she hiccupped, staring at the jagged spikes of bone where his ribs once were. Three of them were missing and one more was cracked. From every wound, thin lines of red dripped down. How could a skeleton bleed? It…it didn't look fine.

"Yeh." Sans's eyes darted to the side. "Really."

Frisk's teary eyes narrowed. "No he didn't."

"Alright it was a toe but—c'mon, kiddo, don't call me out when I'm tryin'a make ya feel better."

"Nnn," Frisk whined, letting her head fall onto Sans's shoulder. "What do we do?"

Sans winced, trying to shift himself to a more comfortable position. Nothing was comfortable. It all hurt like a bitch. "Gotta get home, I guess. We got stuff to take care o' this. Nothin to do but splint it all up, plaster things, and wait for it to heal on its own."

"Is there a shortcut?"

Sans thought about it, but in the end he shook his head. In this state, no tellin if he could pull it off without falling apart or leaving something behind. "Nah. Gotta hoof it."

Frisk sniffled some more, wiping her puffy eyes as she pulled back and struggled to her feet. She'd gotten hit one good time, but after that, Sans had stepped forward and dodged every attack. Until…something happened. Frisk still wasn't sure how, it was like he'd just fallen…he looked so tired, and maybe…fell asleep? Then one of the dogs had tripped him and the other one punched him. That was all…but when he hit the ground, the injuries just appeared on him. Bone fragments and drops of blood suddenly exploded from him. She didn't understand how it happened. But it didn't matter; she had to help him now.

"Here—get up…" she mumbled, trying to pull him to his feet. Sans looped an arm around her neck and tried to stand. His leg immediately reminded him of how shitty an idea that was.

He couldn't stop a pained shout from escaping him. Frisk squeaked fearfully and immediately whispered, "Sorry! I'm sorry!"

"N-nah…kid…" he grunted, gritting his teeth. "Fine…I'm fine…I'm a'right…" That was to convince himself. He'd given up trying to convince Frisk. He took a sidelong glance at her tearstained face and red eyes. The guilt was worse than the injuries, to be honest. Sans groaned heavily. Shouldn't have let himself get like this. But hey…better him than Frisk.

Frisk pulled him to his feet, one hand holding his arm around her neck, the other gripping his spine. His blood dripped down her leg making her shudder. He was a lot heavier than a set of bones should have been, and carrying him was not easy. They stumbled through the snow, slowly making their way back towards town. Surely it wouldn't take long to run into someone who could run off and get Papyrus.

"H-how are you bleeding?" she almost whispered.

"Magic," he grunted. "Monsters are made of it; we do things that don't really agree with reality. D-Don' worry; it's nothin."

She knew he was lying about that part, which was bad, because she kind of needed to know whether or not a monster could die from blood loss like humans could. The thought of death... _his_ death...it made her want to crawl under a rock and cry forever. Frisk shivered again and swiped away the moisture in her eyes. "Sans," she mumbled, looking at her feet.

His voice was strained as he answered, "Yeah?"

"You got hurt because of me…"

"Agh…" Sans groaned and looked away. "Nah, buddy, it wasn't your fault."

Frisk's grip on him tightened. "I never wanted anyone to get hurt."

Sans gave her a solid stare, but she wouldn't let him see her eyes. "You get hurt. All the time."

"That's okay."

"Bull," Sans snorted. "It ain't okay. I don't wanna hear you say that again, ya got it?"

Frisk trudged on silently, refusing to look at him. Each step was a fresh new slice of pain through his ribs, his leg was on fire, his head felt like a guy with a sledge hammer was bangin around inside—and he didn't care. No—you know what? He _loved_ it. He'd done this to protect the kid. Like he promised. To Sans, who hated promises…it felt kinda fuckin spectacular to finally be able to say he kept one.

And now…he couldn't just give it up.

"Listen to me," Sans's hoarse voice insisted. "You're a good kid, Frisk. You're a better kid than I've ever met. So don't you ever think you deserve to get hurt. And you can count on Sans to be around to look after ya."

Frisk had fresh tears on her face, and her jaw was clenched tight. She still didn't say anything. Sans kept going, "Don't even worry 'bout it, sweet'eart. I ain't goin anywhere."

Frisk's head settled against his shoulder again. They kept walking, inch by inch, leaning on each other. And Sans felt something that he hadn't in a long while…something he maybe started to think wasn't around anymore. It filled the painful cracks within him, the hollow places where he was lacking. The power to continue on in the face of hopelessness.

Let's call this power…determination.


End file.
